


Less Than Complimentary

by triste



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's uncanny how much Merlin sounds like Morgana. The only difference is that Morgana would never call Arthur an arse. The insult is far too common for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Less Than Complimentary

Title: Less Than Complimentary  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Merlin  
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin  
Rating: PG-13  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

It's rare for Morgana to knock. She typically comes sailing into Arthur's chambers unannounced, whether to give him a piece of her mind or to warn him about a bad dream she's just had, but today it's different. It could have something to do with the way Arthur has only just finished telling Merlin off for his non-existent needlecraft skills. Then again, it had been a fairly simple task he set, just to mend the tear in his favourite pair of hunting trousers, but, Merlin being Merlin, he has to mess it up.

Arthur sends him away when he hears rapping at the door, and Morgana offers him a supportive smile as he passes her on his way out.

"I think you're being too harsh with him," she accuses, but Arthur refuses to budge.

"It's his own fault for being such a shoddy servant," he insists. "How difficult can it be to mend a pair of trousers?"

"You can't blame him for making mistakes," she defends. "He hasn't done much sewing before has he? I'm sure he's trying his best to learn." Arthur's expression suggests otherwise. "Well, if you're really that upset over it, I'll ask Gwen to take care of it. Even you can't complain about her ability as a seamstress."

"Merlin's duties are for him alone to handle," says Arthur. "Don't drag other people into this."

"Then stop putting Merlin down and let him learn at his own pace," Morgana retorts. "They're only your hunting trousers. You're always tearing them. What does it matter if the stitching is a little unsightly?"

"I'm the crown prince. I have an image to maintain."

"What, an image of being a pompous pea brain?"

Arthur gives a long-suffering sigh. "Morgana, your jokes just keep getting funnier. How many times have you called me that now?"

"It doesn't matter and it doesn't make it any less true. It might actually sink in at some point if I continue to remind you." Morgana tries to get back to the point. "Why don't you try doing something nice for once? Praise Merlin every once in a while. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. You're always working him to the bone. Do you even allow him to eat? The poor thing looks so malnourished."

"It's not my fault he's skinny," says Arthur. "All peasants are like that. Besides, he's not starving. He eats Gaius' cooking, doesn't he?"

"No wonder he's so thin. Gaius may be a fine physician, but he's no chef."

"And what do you suggest? That I make Merlin beg for the scraps from my own plate like a dog?" Arthur snickers. "Actually, that's a good idea. I should try it sometime. It'd be hilarious."

Morgana restrains herself from throwing the wine on the tabletop into Arthur's face, but only just. "You should be bonding with him better. Gwen and I have a very close relationship. She's more of a friend than a maid to me."

"I've had other servants before, Morgana. Why are you so concerned with this one?"

"Because Merlin is different. No, he's more than that. He's special. Surely you must have noticed."

Arthur narrows his eyes. "Really." It's a statement rather than a question, and Morgana nods.

"Yes, really. Like I was saying, it'll be good for the two of you to do things together outside of your usual roles. You could have a picnic. Gwen and I had one just last week. The weather has been lovely lately. It'll be a nice change of pace."

"A picnic?" scoffs Arthur. "That's for girls!"

"I recall having one with your father fairly recently," Morgana says smoothly.

"He only does those things to please you," says Arthur. "He indulges you. He always has."

Morgana raises an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

Arthur snorts. "Hardly."

Morgana once again attempts to steer them back to their original subject. "If you won't do this for Merlin, do it for me. It doesn't have to be a picnic. You could go out riding together."

"Or," says Arthur, showing some interest at last, "we could go hunting. I'll kill something, and Merlin can cook it. If I get a really impressive catch, he can make me something to wear out of it. How's that for a great day out?"

"You're hopeless. I was a fool to think any differently."

"Are you having your woman's period?" asks Arthur, his tone half-suspicious, half-condescending, and Morgana gets another urge to throw wine in his face.

"I feel sorry for Merlin, having to put up with someone like you," she snaps.

"I'm the one who needs sympathy," Arthur argues. "Just look at these trousers!"

"You're insufferable," Morgana despairs. "Why are you being this way?"

"It's because you always bring out the best in me," he replies sarcastically, even though it couldn't be further from the truth.

Morgana has never had any siblings, but Arthur is the nearest thing. Stubborn and obnoxious, he's always making Morgana nearly forget that she actually cares about him.

"Fine," she relents, backing down much sooner than she usually would, but she reminds herself that it's all for Merlin's sake. "Enjoy your hunt."

And with that, their bickering is over as soon as it began.

"I'm sure I will," says Arthur. "I might even bring you back a souvenir."

Morgana's face stays admirably straight. "I can hardly wait."

~~

The next day dawns bright and early, and Arthur is in a good mood. He's left Merlin to carry everything but his crossbow, and that's because he’d never dare trust him with something so dangerous. Giving Merlin such a weapon would no doubt result in him accidentally shooting either himself or Arthur, or possibly both.

Bizarrely, one of the objects Merlin has brought along with him is a small wicker basket. Arthur doesn't remember telling him to fetch it with him, and it's only when they've entered the forest that he discovers its purpose.

"I told Gaius that I'd be going out today," Merlin explains, "and he asked me if I'd collect some herbs and things."

"Right," Arthur says dubiously. "And what's that other thing you've brought?"

"Well, you seemed unhappy with what I did to your trousers, so Gwen offered to teach me a bit about embroidery," says Merlin. "I thought I'd practise while I had the opportunity. You'd only whinge again if I didn't make any improvement."

"One, I don't whinge," says Arthur, "and two, could you *get* any girlier? We're here to hunt, not pick flowers and do needlepoint."

"But Gaius says-"

"I don't care what Gaius says, just... stay here and sew. You'd only ruin things anyway if I took you with me, since you have no understanding whatsoever of stealth or silence. I don't want you scaring off my prey or getting yourself lost, so don't move from this spot. I'll come back to pick you up later."

Arthur leaves. He's considerably more irritated than he was when he first set out that morning, but hunting always makes him feel better. His mood improves considerably when he finds a set of tracks that eventually leads him to a young stag drinking by a small spring.

He expects Merlin to be impressed by his kill when he returns with it, but Merlin only glances at him.

"Oh," he says. "Welcome back."

Arthur drops the carcass in front of him, waiting for Merlin to comment and feeling irked when he doesn't. "And?" he prompts. "Your reaction?"

"It's a dead deer."

"Stag, Merlin. Note the antlers. They're a bit of a giveaway."

"What do you expect me to say?"

"'Congratulations' might be a start."

Merlin's gaze flickers from his embroidery to the stag. "Congratulations," he parrots obediently. "You're probably feeling proud of yourself, and its mate is probably in mourning somewhere."

"Animals don't mourn," says Arthur. "How can they? They don't have feelings or intelligence."

"I think it's sad," says Merlin. "They're such majestic creatures. It's a waste to take their lives."

"It's just a stag. They're not exactly rare. This one isn't even all that big. I've killed more superior specimens before."

"It's still a shame," says Merlin, and Arthur sighs in exasperation.

"Why are you making such a fuss? You never mind when I kill little things like rabbits."

"That's because they're pests. Ealdor got infested with them once. They nearly ruined our crops."

"So rabbits are all right but stags aren't? I fail to see the logic in this. Why do you object to killing one animal but not another?"

"In my village, we only kill out of necessity. We do it to survive, not for sport. It's why we raise things like pigs and chickens and cows, to keep people alive."

"That's no fun. Pigs and cows are too docile and domesticated. Nobody would enjoy killing those things." Arthur scowls. "I thought you'd be pleased. My father would be."

"It may have escaped your notice," Merlin replies, "but I'm not the king. You're right though. Uther would appreciate it. You can show it off to him when we get home."

"I brought it here to show it off to you," says Arthur, wondering how Merlin can be so dense. "You're supposed to compliment me."

"Right. Well done, sire."

Arthur is not amused. "You don't mean that."

"No, I do," says Merlin, but he's hardly convincing. "You've got this whole killing defenceless animals business down to a fine art. You have every right to be proud of yourself."

"Don't be cheeky, Merlin. You're not clever or charming enough to get away with it."

"With you, Arthur, I am always serious. I have no idea how you could ever bring yourself to doubt that."

Arthur sits down opposite Merlin, peering over at the embroidery pattern he's been working on. "What is that supposed to be?"

"A dragon," Merlin says promptly.

"Doesn't look like one."

"It's only my first attempt. I'll get better."

Arthur is sceptical, but he stays quiet for a moment. "Morgana thinks we should bond," he says finally, making Merlin looks up at him curiously.

"I thought we were already bonded."

"Are we?" It's news to Arthur, but when he thinks back to the lengths he's been prepared to go to for Merlin's sake and vice versa he supposes he shouldn't be so surprised. "Even if that's the case, we don't really have much in common, do we?"

"That's true," Merlin concedes. "You're a prince. I'm a servant. Of course we wouldn't have many shared interests."

"That's not what I meant," says Arthur, and he tries to rephrase his question. "One of my hobbies is hunting. One of yours appears to be sewing. We need to find some middle ground where we can meet."

"Sewing isn't my hobby," says Merlin.

"Then what is?" asks Arthur.

Merlin's brow wrinkles in thought. "When you put it like that, I don't actually know. I don't have much time for hobbies, what with studying under Gaius and always doing chores for you."

"That's very boring," states Arthur. "I would recommend you take up hunting, but like sword fighting, you don't have the aptitude for it. On top of that, you're a bleeding heart. You ought to toughen up more. Hunting is a fabulous way to relieve stress."

"So is weeding. It gives you a wonderful sense of satisfaction to viciously rip things out of the earth whenever you're angry. You should try it. But," adds Merlin, "you wouldn't be interested in such things. Plant life is beneath you, after all."

"Not necessarily," says Arthur, more to save face than anything else. He doesn't like looking bad in front of anyone, especially Merlin. "I'm a veritable expert. I know loads about flowers." He points out the nearest one. "See? That's a tulip."

"It's a daffodil," Merlin corrects, sounding like he's trying not to laugh.

Arthur tries again. "Look over there. Those are daisies."

"They're dandelions," says Merlin.

"And those," Arthur continues, picking another flower at random, "those are bluebells."

"It's foxglove, actually," Merlin informs him. "Also known as digitalis. It's terribly toxic."

"But it probably smells brilliant. I offered to bring Morgana a souvenir. Let's give her some of that."

"Even though it could kill her?"

The idea is almost tempting, but Arthur doesn't dislike Morgana that much, even when she's at her worst. Besides, his father would never forgive him.

"You're right, it is a little extreme. We could give her nettle rash instead? That'd be funny. I bet she'd be angry for weeks."

Merlin's lips twitch. "I notice that you keep saying 'we', sire. I refuse to have any part in this immature suggestion of yours."

"You're just scared of Morgana," Arthur accuses. Merlin doesn't deny it.

"Entertaining though the thought may be," he says, putting his embroidery away, "I still need to run this errand for Gaius. You can wait here if you'd like. I don't imagine seeking out ingredients for medicine would be of much interest to you."

"I'll go with you," says Arthur. "You'd only get lost if I left you to your own devices. Have you forgotten that you have no sense of direction?"

"I'm not that bad," says Merlin.

Arthur gives him a companionable slap on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. I know this forest like the back of my hand. You'll never run into any trouble while you're with me."

Merlin rolls his eyes and mumbles something less than complimentary, but he laughs good-naturedly when Arthur cuffs him over the back of the head.

It turns out to be educational for Arthur, as Merlin points out all the things that can be used for medicinal purpose to him. It's a good thing his diet consists mainly of meat, he thinks. Most of this vegetation stuff, as well as being largely unappetising, seems to be mostly poisonous.

Arthur has trouble containing his mirth when Merlin regales him with a story of the time Gaius sent him to fetch a specific type of mushroom. Naturally, he'd brought back the wrong one, and Gaius, either too busy with his patients to double check or simply having far too much faith in Merlin, made up a medicine that turned out to have some rather interesting side effects.

It all goes well until Merlin comes to the final plant on Gaius' list, a rare white flower that grows high upon a rock face at the outskirts of the forest.

"How do you propose we reach it?" says Arthur, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun as he stares upwards. "You can't climb this. It's impossible."

Merlin is unfazed. "Not necessarily. Ask nicely and the flowers will come to you."

Arthur makes a face in disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous. Do you honestly expect them to sprout legs and jump into your arms?"

"Watch and learn," says Merlin, and he shouts up at the flowers, "please come down!"

Predictably, nothing happens.

"If it's not too much trouble," Merlin continues, "I'd like to make some medicine out of you. You'll be helping to save peoples lives. Please fulfil your destiny and come down!"

Arthur frowns at him in concern. "Did you hit your head on a tree branch while I wasn't looking?" he says, but Merlin just continues talking to the flowers. "You're having me on," he mutters, turning his back, and that's when Merlin makes an "oh" noise.

"What did I tell you?" he says, and Arthur whips round to see three of the flowers sitting at Merlin's feet. "You just have to be polite."

"You... you..." Arthur splutters. "But that's..." He points at Merlin in suspicion. "You did something. Don't deny it."

"I didn't do anything," Merlin says, the picture of innocence. "I only asked nicely."

"You're making fun of me," Arthur says insistently. "And you're lying to me. I know you are. Tell me the truth. How did you do it?"

The amusement fades from Merlin's face, a more wistful and melancholy expression taking its place. He bends to pick up one of the flowers, twirling it thoughtfully with his fingers.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened. There's always been something strange about Merlin, something different. It's not just the way he attracts trouble like a magnet. It's not even the way he stands up to Arthur and challenges him in a manner not dissimilar to how Morgana behaves with his father.

Arthur casts his mind back to when they first met, the scuffle in the street they'd had. It had been too one-sided to be called a fight, what with Merlin spending more time running away than landing any blows of his own, and yet...

Arthur has never been a clumsy person. Merlin is the clumsy one, not him, but Arthur clearly remembers being unusually ungraceful that time, tripping over crates he swears weren't there a second ago, getting his mace tangled up like an amateur.

It's the same with the flowers, and it doesn't make any sense. Merlin isn't laughing now, nor is he defiant the way he was back then. He looks at Arthur and there's longing in his gaze. It slips past Arthur's wariness, makes him want to unravel the many mysterious surrounding Merlin like cotton wrapped around a spool.

"I will tell you," Merlin says, his voice quiet and solemn. "I promise. Not here, not now, but someday. Whenever that day is, I'll tell you everything. I swear to you. Just... give me time. Please."

There are so many things Arthur wants to say, but the words won't - can't - push past his lips. This is Merlin, he reminds himself. He's an idiot, he's reckless, he's a ridiculous excuse for a servant but he trusts him. He'll admit that readily. That's why he gives in.

"I understand. I'll hold you to your word," he says, and it's like a kick to the chest when he sees Merlin's gratitude, all soft smiles and shiny eyes. He clears his throat, uncomfortable with the emotions Merlin stirs within him. "Come on. Let's go home."

"Wait," says Merlin. "I need more flowers."

Arthur huffs impatiently. "I thought you were done?"

"No, I have to get something for Gwen and Morgana. As a thank you."

"You really are soft," says Arthur, but Merlin just gives him another one of those smiles. "Oh all *right*. But hurry up."

~~

Arthur is disgruntled to deliver Morgana's share of the flowers on Merlin's behalf, but he goes through with the request anyway.

"Tell her that you helped pick them out," he says to Arthur once they reach the castle before heading off to the blacksmiths to find Gwen. "It'll make her happy."

And so, Arthur knocks on Morgana's door, shoving the flowers under her nose as soon as she opens it. "For you," he says.

"How sweet," she reponds, beckoning him inside. "Be sure to thank Merlin for me."

"I picked them with him," Arthur replies indignantly.

Morgana shakes her head. "No you didn't. Merlin just told you to say that."

Arthur scowls. "If you want to thank him, do it yourself. I'm the crown prince, not an messenger boy."

"Fair enough," Morgana says, and Arthur is immediately on the alert. It's not like Morgana to be so agreeable, and sure enough she continues with, "I suppose I'll have to invite him to my chambers and thank him personally."

"He's my servant," warns Arthur. "You keep your hands off him."

"What gives you the impression that I'm going to do anything do him?" Morgana inquires.

"Because you're showing far more interest in him than you ought to be."

"And why shouldn't I? He's very endearing. It's the ears."

"His ears have nothing to do with it, so stay away from him. I am his master. He belongs to me."

"He belongs to himself. You don't own him. You're just his boss."

"He's a servant, Morgana, they don't have much in the way of rights and personal freedom."

Arthur thinks he hears Morgana mutter something about pathetic men, but he's sure the comment can't possibly be directed towards him. He’s not pathetic, he’s magnificent.

"You never did like other people playing with your toys," she smirks. "I see Merlin is no different."

"He's not a toy," Arthur says hotly. "He's-"

"Yes?" Morgana interrupts, her expression expectant, and Arthur refrains from finishing his sentence. He's not his father. He doesn't bend over backwards to please whimsical females.

"Whatever he is, he's none of your business. Go and brush your hair some more because you have nothing better to do with yourself. You can keep brushing your hair until it all falls out and then everyone will laugh at you the way I'm doing now. Ha ha ha."

Morgana looks at him like he's something slimy and disgusting. "Get lost, Arthur."

"Gladly," he says, storming off and slamming the door behind him, entertaining himself with the thought of slipping nettles into Morgana's knickers as he leaves.

 

~~

The next day Arthur and Morgana are officially at war, and Merlin is caught in the middle.

It starts with the feast Uther hosts, and Arthur is most annoyed when Merlin doesn't appear to help him dress for the occasion. He's even more annoyed when he eventually finds Merlin in Morgana's chambers. Gwen is there too, apparently trying to wrestle Merlin into some robes.

"What on earth are you doing?" says Arthur. "You're late for your duties."

"Gwen made him a new outfit to wear for the feast," Morgana says, perfectly serene. "The things you always make him put in are hideous. I'm giving him something more appropriate, that's all."

"It wasn't my idea," Merlin says quickly, but Arthur isn't listening.

"How many more times do I have to remind you, Morgana? He's my manservant, not your personal life-sized doll. Why are you making him wear blue?"

"To match my dress, of course," Morgana replies. "And because it brings out the colour of his eyes. The two of us will look very striking together."

"He should be matching *me*," says Arthur. "I'll be wearing red and so will he."

"Red doesn't suit him, he's too pale. He has a winter complexion, like mine. Warm colours are bad for him. Cool ones are better."

"What does that have to do with anything? Besides, I hate blue."

"Blue is my favourite colour."

"And that's one of the many reasons why I dislike it."

They glare at each other for a moment before Gwen delicately clears her throat.

"We're finished, my lady. Is it to your tastes?"

Morgana inspects Merlin thoroughly and then gives him a smile of approval. "You look lovely," she says. Merlin blushes.

"You look rubbish," snaps Arthur, and Morgana glares at him again. "To my chambers, Merlin. *Now*."

"Yes, sire," says Merlin, nearly tripping over his robes in his haste.

"Don't force him to wear something else, Arthur," Morgana says coldly. "I wouldn't want to waste Gwen's efforts."

"I'm the crown prince, Morgana, and I shall do as I wish," Arthur says, but Uther, unsurprisingly, takes Morgana's side.

"Let her have her way," he tells Arthur. "She isn't doing any harm."

Arthur would disagree, but the king has always had a blind spot when it comes to Morgana. The favouritism only serves to irritate him further when Morgana arrives at the feast fashionably late to make an entrance, her dress billowing dramatically and making the other people in the hall gasp and swoon.

Merlin stumbles along behind her, looking extremely nervous, but he succeeds in pulling a chair out for Morgana to sit without knocking anything over before taking his place at her side, ready to serve.

Arthur hates to admit it but they do look striking together, with their dark hair, fair skin and sapphire coloured clothing. It makes him very jealous.

He's stuck with Gwen for the evening. She's far more subtle and attentive to his needs than Merlin has ever been, but Arthur knows who he would rather have waiting on him.

~~

He spends more time with Gwen over the next few days, as Morgana still refuses to give Merlin back. Gwen tries to hold a conversation while she makes Arthur's bed and plumps his pillows for him, but he only starts paying attention when Merlin's name crops up.

"Please don't be angry with Morgana," she soothes. "She isn't making your life miserable on purpose."

"Could have fooled me," says Arthur.

"Don't worry about Merlin too much," Gwen says kindly. "He'll be back with you in no time. The lady is just playing with him a little. Merlin is loyal to you. He always will be."

Arthur makes a doubtful noise that apparently prompts Gwen to continue.

"No, it's true. He might complain about you sometimes, but he doesn't really mean what he says. He respects and admires you, honestly he does. You should have seen him at your coming-of-age ceremony. He was ever so proud."

Arthur frowns.

"He was proud," Gwen repeats. "He tried to deny it by saying he was more proud of how clean he'd gotten your socks rather than how proud he was of you becoming the crown prince, but he couldn't take his eyes off you all night. Until that wraith creature interrupted, of course, but let's not bring that up."

"He was proud of me?" asks Arthur.

Gwen nods fervently. "It wasn't just at your coming-of-age ceremony. He's always cheering for you whenever you compete in one of the tournaments, too. It makes him so happy to see you win. He really likes you, he just won't admit it."

Arthur mulls that over until he reaches a conclusion.

"Thank you, Guinevere," he says graciously. "You've been most informative."

"You're very welcome, my lord," she says, curtseying.

"Fetch Merlin for me, will you? There's something he and I must discuss. And you don't have to tend to me anymore, no matter what Morgana might say. Your rightful place is with her."

Arthur remembers Morgana saying how sorry she felt for Merlin, but if anyone is to be pitied here it's Gwen. He has no clue how she could be Morgana's handmaiden and still keep smiling, but then she is very resilient. Kind of like Merlin. Peasants are clearly made out of stern stuff.

Merlin is out of breath when he appears, as if he's run the whole way to Arthur's chambers after being summoned. Arthur is pleased.

At long last things are starting to fall back into place and go the way he wants.

"You called?" he says wryly, once he's able to speak.

Arthur nods. "We need to talk. Where were you?"

"Practising archery with Morgana. She's amazing. Her aim is perfect. She just hits one target after the other. I was awful, I couldn't hit a thing."

Arthur can imagine, and he's also unimpressed to hear Merlin singing the praises of Morgana. He's certainly never called Arthur amazing before. Prat, yes, and on a regular basis. Amazing, no.

"You are not to associate with her anymore," Arthur orders. "I mean it."

"But she's supposed to be teaching me flower arranging tomorrow," Merlin protests.

"I don't care, Merlin, and she won't be teaching you anything else."

Merlin tilts his head, baffled. "Are you two having a fight?"

It's incredible, thinks Arthur as he briefly contemplates strangling Merlin with his own scarf, how slow a human being can be, but Merlin goes on.

"I was just wondering, because it was Morgana who suggested I make this for you." He reaches into his pocket and offers Arthur a handkerchief. "Gwen helped. It's supposed to be the Pendragon crest embroidered on it. I thought you might like it."

Arthur doesn't say anything, and Merlin deflates as the silence draws itself out.

"Of course you don't like it. It's silly isn't it? You have hundreds of handkerchiefs already, you probably don't need any more."

Merlin moves to stuff the handkerchief back into his pocket, but Arthur catches his wrist.

"No," he says sharply, making Merlin jump. "I mean," adds Arthur, quietening his voice, "it's a gift. It's only polite that I accept."

"You never usually worry about being polite," Merlin says, and Arthur tightens his hold on his wrist.

"You gave it to me. It's mine now. You can't have it back."

"That is the whole point of giving gifts," says Merlin, giving Arthur one of his silly infectious grins, and Arthur's lips curve in an answering smile.

"I've turned over a new leaf," he declares. "From now on, I'm going to be more considerate. That's why I have to return your gift with one of my own."

"Really?" Merlin, naive as ever, grins even broader. "You're giving me a present?"

"You have to close your eyes first," Arthur instructs, and Merlin does so. He's making it far too easy for Arthur, who leans in and kisses him, chastely at first, his mouth pressing lightly against Merlin's.

Merlin draws back a little in surprise and tries to say something, but Arthur only shushes him and kisses him again once, twice, and then again, his tongue teasing Merlin's and giving him only a hint of what else he can expect before breaking away.

Merlin doesn't open his eyes immediately, but when he does, he says, "Wow."

"If you enjoyed that," says Arthur, "just wait until I get you into bed."

Merlin's eyes widen. "Oh," he says, flustered. "The bed. All nice and... bed-shaped. Ideal for sleeping in."

"And for other things besides," Arthur tells him.

Merlin goes red. His reaction is comical to watch, but Arthur can be merciful when he wants. He lets go of Merlin's wrist and steps back to give him some space.

Merlin is confused. He's obviously anticipating more, and it leaves him uncertain and disappointed when he doesn't get it.

"So," Arthur continues conversationally, "what exactly did you and Morgana get up to?"

"Oh," says Merlin. "Um..." He tries again. "Archery mostly. And a bit of sword fighting. She's a better teacher than you are. She has more patience."

"Is that so?" says Arthur. "I can practise patience when it suits me. I practise a lot of things, after all, things that I could teach you better than Morgana ever could."

"In your bed-shaped bed?"

"Yes, Merlin, in my bed-shaped bed. Unless there's another one you'd care to recommend?"

Merlin shrugs. "Your father's bed is very nice. It's also rather comfortable."

Arthur stares at him sharply. "And how would you know that?"

"It's not what it sounds like," Merlin says awkwardly. "There was all that unpleasantness with the impostor physician a while ago, where your father caught Morgana's illness. Well, Gaius miraculously cured him. I sort of... helped."

There's more to it than that, Arthur knows, but Merlin is so panicked that he lets it slide.

"One day, you'll tell me everything," he says.

Merlin nods in relief. "I will. And you'll either hate me for it or..."

He trails off, unable to finish his sentence, and Arthur steps in close again, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly.

"I could never hate you, Merlin," he says, completely serious, focusing his gaze on Merlin's with such intensity that he can't turn away. "You drive me to despair, you're the worst servant I've ever had, but I trust you. The least you could do is trust me, too."

For a second it looks like Merlin is about to cry. Thankfully for Arthur he doesn't, partly because he can't stand having to deal with crying people, but also because Merlin isn't as much of a girl as Arthur makes him out to be.

"You're a great man," Merlin says earnestly. "You'll be a great king. I promise to stay by your side for as long as you'll have me."

Arthur could follow this up with something horrendously saccharine and romantic, could take advantage of Merlin's sincerity and vulnerability to get him into bed faster, but he doesn't. Instead, he says, "Good. You can also promise to get round to doing all the chores you've been skiving off on. I'm starving. Start by making me something to eat. There's a huge pile of laundry that needs doing, my armour needs cleaning and my boots need polishing, all fifteen pairs of them. My sword needs sharpening, my horse needs seeing to..."

The longer Merlin's list of things to do gets, the less he stares at Arthur like he's about to confess his love for him and the more he looks like he wants smack him.

"You are such a *prat*!" he exclaims. "Just when I think you're becoming a tolerable human being you have to go back to being arrogant and conceited. I take back what I said earlier. You're going to be horrible king, the worst there's ever been! 'More considerate,' my arse! You're impossible!"

It's uncanny how much Merlin sounds like Morgana. The only difference is that Morgana would never call Arthur an arse. The insult is far too common for her.

Things are better this way, Arthur decides, as Merlin stomps off to the kitchens muttering about idiot princes as he goes. He'll let Merlin keep his secret, for now at least, until the time comes for change.

 

End.


End file.
